


Different Towers

by Forgotten_Logic



Series: VS&L AU [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Awkward Conversations, Awkward losers, Belly Kink, Cuddling & Snuggling, Feeding Kink, M/M, Mechpreg, Minor Confusion, People as gifts, Politcal Gifts, Self-Indulgent, Soon there will be preg, belly bulge, if you squint in chap 8, sexy dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2019-07-15 10:02:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16060805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forgotten_Logic/pseuds/Forgotten_Logic
Summary: VL&S AUMegatron, a Koani lord; Rodimus, the Nyonian gift. They two have a few things in common.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I should be doing homework but nah
> 
> later I'm going to make some hella indulgent smut because I like Roddy being pumped full of Mega dick

He gazed down to the frame that he had been given as tribute for a relatively peaceful meeting from the Nyonians. A chassis of golden fire stood with their hands held timidly, optics trying to remained trained straight ahead and not the silver build that could easily kill him if his new Lord thought it necessary. 

"We do hope you accept and enjoy Nyon's gift, Kaoni Lord." Who spoke, bowed, the flame bowed with them. "I hope that there remains a peace for our lands. Good orn, Kaoni Lord." The left as curtly as political deliverers could which was still not fast enough for him. Even a quick unwelcome guest is still an unwelcome guest. Huge doors came to a heavy close, startling the smaller frame.

Azure optics trembled up to peer at the steady ones. He knew that shouldn't look so terrified but he couldn't help it, taken from his home and thrown to a Lord--a warlord--was the least settling thing.

The Lord, generally sure of what he was supposed to do in most matters was left a confused daze. What was this mechas purpose? To dance and entertain his court and himself? A mate for when he needed to rut? Carrier for an heir? 

He wasn't so sure what he wanted or what he was supposed to do with him. For now, there wouldn't be anything for him to do. _Nyon's gift_ would have to wait--wait for this warlord to figure his mind. 

"Nyon's gift," his voice did not fully betray the confusion he held. "You do have a name, yes?"

The smaller frame straightened to attention, spoiler falling in submission. "Yes, master. I do," he chirped, softly blinking their optics. "Hot Rod, my Lord."

Megatron hummed in thought, "a name that does not quite suit you," he said inquisitively. He watched as their spoilers bounced up abruptly with a curious flick to their field, falling again immediately, optics down as well. "Would you have a name--" Megatron held his hand up, holding the gift's chin "--that may be better?"

Silver lips parted for merely seconds, open only long enough to show his darkness. No words escaped, however. Megatron released the Gift's chin and took a step back; this mecha was young and Megatron knew he was intimidating.

Golden fingers twiddled with each other before being forced to his sides in a semi-tight fist, even his optics were scrunched a little, short lines on his protoform between his optics were visible. "Rodimus, Milord."

The glint in the Warlord's optics was not seen by the Gift, he faced straight forward and no where near those burning optics. "Rodimus, hmm?" The golden mech froze, gaze forced up to meet his Lord's. "A name that fits, yes. I like it. Now--" Megatron took another step forward, close enough to tentatively brush a servo over a lava-hot back "--come, we do not have time to dawdle."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it's late and technically I should be writing 2 papers but I needed some MegaRod. lol  
> Thank you to those who read this random AU :)

Advisors came in with a near frantic trot to the throne room. Dusty runes decorating their cloaks as they moved. Megatron heard then, knew that they were coming, sent for them prior. He usually never called, so for the rare time, they came quickly, thinking that this perhaps was an emergency that required an _unbiased_ optic. 

Two mecha marched in through the heavy doors, it clunking closed behind them. One did a bow, the other, only a partial bow, out of position only. 

“I was beginning to think you had forgotten I had called at all,” Megatron rose with a hum. “About time.”

“We live to serve, Milord,” one piped, the same who bowed only halfway before. 

“Is there an emergency, Lord Megatron?” the other asked, purple servos held in a triangle, “Anyone to dispatch?”

He paused, almost uttering a chuckle before stepping forward. Megatron considered his words a moment, peering directly into his general’s optics. “If I had ordered a dispatch, you would have known. No, there's no emergency.”

“Then who in Taligine Plains is that,” the twilight mech pointed with his helm, “that is not one of your court.” Rodimus perked up from beside the throne where Megatron had been seated. He looked on with innocence, however, concern bled through his field, unkept and insecure by comparison. 

“General, he was the gift from Nyon. He only arrived this morning,” the second informed the purple mech. “I presume that he is the reason you called.”

“Your deductive prowess continues to stand, Soundwave.” Megatron could feel the lingering gaze on his back from the small flame. “This event was not one that was anticipated.”

“However, one that was and is politically based,” the General piped, “how are we to know that this mech is not a spy?” 

“We do not,” the blue and silver mech interrupted and stepped forward, bright optics flickered to and back from the golden mech. “However, whatever the case, Lord Megatron, what did you require of us?”

Megatron stood, body and field unchanging. He could sense the tense field behind him and the curious two in front. “What to do with him, I am not sure.”

“You could throw him to the streets,” the purple mech sneered, “He looks like that’s where they found him.” 

There was a small sound from behind Megatron, one he was unsure of why it was evoked in the first place. He found himself growing at the comment. “Tarn, if I wanted opinions, I would have summoned Starscream or Deadlock. Don’t insult me.”

“I merely—”

“It would serve you well to remain silent,” Soundwave barred warning in his voice. “Speak when spoken to, General. It marks bad on your reputation.”

Megatron watched with a steely optic as his only two members of his court whose opinions who vaguely mattered to him. “Again, what should I do with him?” it sounded more of a statement with how his voice lacked its dynamism with his building irritation. 

“Lord Megatron, if I may—”

“Yes, Soundwave?”

“You yet to have a harem, or a mate, why waste a perfectly good frame?” With an open palm, he opened it toward the golden frame, his trembling near silent. “He looks to be in good health, perhaps a bit light but that can be easily fixed.”

Megatron felt the field behind him pulse again, an uncontrolled wave of curiosity and insecurity poked his plating. However to his front, the irritated but silent EM of his General, conversely, unlike the collected one that stood cooly. All waited for what Megatron had then considered.

“You may go.”

Both bowed as before, however, his General had lingered while Soundwave made toward the door. “Lord Megatron.”

“Speak quickly.” Megatron’s narrowed optics spoke louder than he had.

“There has been conflict on the northeast border,” Tarn summed up the events of prior orns. 

“Dispatch a squadron, _drown_ it out.”

“Yes, Lord Megatron.” And finally, he took his leave. Border conflict or not, his only job in life was to make certain that his people were safe. If he cannot manage that, well… it would be more disappointing than surprising. The heavy door opened with a whine and closed with an even heavier clang.

Rodimus stared, tried to keep his hands from fumbling, keep his spoiler from moving abruptly. But with his new Lord approaching, his hands wringing out his nervousness as his Lord made his approach. 

“Rodimus,” he said quietly. His optics darted to his Lord’s, clear and unabashedly ruby. Megatron offered one silver hand to the flame that burned on the floor, an offer that was tentatively accepted. Rodimus felt the warmth that came off onto his hand, or how his Lord’s frame was one that was a beacon of unusual warmth. Through his abrupt imagines, Megatron pulled him up to his pedes. Thankfully, he was more steady than he felt.

“Come, there is one thing to do—” which was to take a piece of Soundwave’s advice. Then Rodimus’ spoilers fell in trepidation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just saying for the future, this thing is gonna get majorly indulgent akjf;lakjfdaljk lmao  
> so, if rando kinky stuff aint your bag, llol save yourself  
> but if it is, cool, I hope yall enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta cuz im brain dead  
> and i technically should have been asleep but you can see that did not happen
> 
> once mom says i can use the brain cell, ill actually write the kinky shit i actually want.   
> prob next weekend since thats fall break

For honesty’s sake, Rodimus did not expect this to be the outcome. There he sat, adjacent to the silver frame. The aroma that had only begun to fill the room filtered in from the vents leading from the kitchen. He sat there, quiet as his mind blazed. Megatron had not spoken either. Neither sure (or perhaps willing) to ease the awkward tension, that or Megatron did not feel it as awkward. Rodimus could not know for sure.

The one thing that Rodimus was sure of was that the room smelt unbelievably good. It was nothing like what Nyon smelt like, even in the private districts—where he was not allowed to go in the first place. It was a matter of station, and his was not up to par with the mecha there. However now, it was not something that lingered long in his head, now filling with a curiosity as to what was next. 

Megatron cleared his intake. “So, Rodimus.” He froze. “Have you any hobbies?” 

“Hobbies?” 

“Yes, what do mecha like you do in Nyon?”

Rodimus found himself fumbling again, digits then clamping on the edges of his seat. “We… um, mecha like me don’t do much, Milord.” Those rubies that continued to peer at him just may have turned to diamonds, boring into his very spirit. Rodimus swallowed thickly. He turned his head on instinct toward the door behind him. The aroma had suddenly grown stronger. 

Megatron had not been phased by the mecha now entering the room, crowding both with platters. “There must be something. Something you like to do,” he continued while a platter was placed in front of him, likewise with Rodimus. “Nyonians are not one to allow outsiders in, so, I pry.” 

He watched the flame flicker and shift with his gaze, optics jumping to and from the mecha that had place and left the room, back for the kitchen. “You’re in my home, I won’t hurt you.”

Golden spoilers fell a notch, vents on his side sputtered. “Okay… Milord.”

“Rodimus.” He looked to his lord. “You don’t have to saying Milord. It makes me feel old.” Despite the situation, Rodimus snorted a short laugh. Then stopped, optics downcast away from either the silver frame or platter. “Sorry.” 

One mecha took off the lid of the flame’s platter, it was filled with fresh variety, all piping hot. Megatron’s was just the same. 

“Don’t apologize. It is fine,” said Megatron, holding the same level of confidence in his tone as before. Neither moved for moment, each collecting themselves in a way that seemed to work for the time. Then Megatron cleared his throat, even though there was nothing inside that needed to be really be cleared. “Go ahead and eat. Please.”

Rodimus did not move again until the other mecha had left, the door clamping shut. And when he did move, he hand tentatively gravitated toward whatever was closest. What it was, he wasn’t sure, but his lo—Megatron had his optics on him. He wasn’t moving at all. _Why was he not moving at all?_

He took a bite of the deep blue thing that easily filled up his hand. (Everything was obviously to Megatron’s usual proportions, by comparison to Rodimus and what he was not used to.) It crunched, echoing in his head, much louder in his head than what it actually was. It was enough to allow Megatron to then fish for something of his own. 

“How is it?” Megatron asked between a bite of whatever he had in his hand. Then he waited, watching as the smaller frame took another less tentative bite. Golden frame paused midchew, swallowing abruptly, taking a moment to collect himself. “It is all very good.” It was a small, weak response but Rodimus was not used to having fuel that actually tasted good. But he was still in the presence of the Warlord and he was not sure where his life would be, or how it may end abruptly. “Thank you… Lord Megatron.”

Gunmetal moved smoothly, guiding the piece of fuel in his grasp between deceptively sharp dent. He took his time chewing, away from the gold light and to his platter. “My chefs aim to please,” he stated proudly, “If there is anything that you need, let me or anymech in these Towers know.”

Rodimus paused, mouth slightly agape. Immediately feeling self-conscious with those ruby optics on him again. The only way to keep from freezing up was to take another quick bite. A timid smile came across his derma. “Thanks.”

Megatron took up a glass in his palm. He sipped it. 

Rodimus stayed quiet, reaching for bite size colorful cuboids on his platter, he pops them in feels them pop in his mouth. 

It was only after minutes thick with silence that even Megatron felt the nagging awkwardness build like fog. He made a wordless sound and shifted in his seat. Sapphire optics darted to the sound.

“Erm,” a very not confident sound, not even a proper word. “Perhaps I could show you where you will be recharging?”

Golden spoilers jumped, not sure now whether to curious or terrified of the prospect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the read!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sick but I had some brain power free to throw this here. Enjoy ❤

Rodimus had only one idea as to how this next portion of his Kaoni stay would go and he was terrified. He was escorted to the next to highest level of the only tower he had been in, and again, was left terrified upon learning the room he entered was a berthroom. Based solely on how large the purple berth was, it was Megatron’s.

It had to have been his for it was his Lord who had lead Rodimus there. Megatron only then put a servo on red shoulder. “I did not know of your arrival, so there were no preparations.” Megatron urged him further inside, the door closing behind them. He felt Rodimus shudder and in not in good way. “This is what I have to offer. For now, please understand.”

He gulped, “Yes, Lord Megatron.” 

“Please, do make yourself comfortable,” Megatron added, removing his servo. “There is one thing I must do first.”

Rodimus turned around and saw that the gunmetal mech was almost to the door again. He did not say anything before it closed again, and with a clunk, Rodimus knew he was locked in. 

Alone and very shook up the last few orns that led to this. He was going to be used as a berth slave, he knew it. With a shaky vent, he looked around, and moved to the first chair—anything other than that berth. The fluid grace was gone and his anxiety was plaqued. He was very sure that he would not survive living here, too close to the mech that had ordered attacks on the border of his home state.

Although, it was because of his home state that he was there in the first place. Plucked from the allies like the street mech his is. He wished he were back. Yes, he was starving but he was with mecha like him who also had nothing; there he could help, there he felt most comfortable.

“‘...make yourself comfortable,’ I don’t think that is going to happen,” he mused aloud. His words caught in his throat out of anxious terror now, nothing like what had happened in the alleys. 

This was nothing like the alleys, except for the fear that he felt. Rodimus could deal with the starvation lingering in his tanks or trying to scrap with other mecha for scraps. His state did not care at all it seemed. They found him at the bottom of the barrel and threw him to a damn warlord.

Only Primus knows what Megatron will be doing with the golden frame. He did not dare think about the possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo  
> Thanks for the read!  
> Fair warning for future installments: this will have feeding/hand feeding, breeding, and based on my previous habits --- mechpreg. If that ain't your bag, welp \^•^/ oof idk lol


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all know me by now, no beta. Tired and sick.   
> Blease feel free to leave a comment :3

Megatron by this point knew that the meeting between him and Tarn was just to take his time. To be blunt, it was more of Tarn assuring him that this Nyonian Gift was most certainly a spy. Megatron had to stop him, he already heard his first pleas.

All he wanted to do now was go to berth. Sleep. Maybe feel refreshed at the end of the night? That would be lovely. _Rodimus_ , what is going to do with him? He already knows he won’t force him to sleep on the floor. _He probably would not even put Deadlock on the floor._ But this was not Deadlock, this was a new and strange mecha of Nyon. 

… But he was a mech all the same. That was the one solid thing he could draw from. The rest, he wasn’t so sure. There were different… things that he had… felt? Rodimus just made him feel different.

If he had not looked up, he would have ran face-first into the door. There wasn’t much to be done, for now, just entering almost felt like a chore. The door creaked with the lock disengage. When he stepped in, bright sapphire optics were on him. 

The golden spoilers seemed to tremble while the flame sat pointedly and stiff on berth’s edge. Knees tight and servos clenched in half fists on his thighs. Nyon’s Gift and his discomfort would have to wait for now.

Megatron stood mere steps away from the berth where his only flame sat. He cleared his throat and took a tentative step forward. “Have you—are you comfortable sleeping here? With me,” he quickly clarified. “Of course, if you’d prefer to not, I won’t be upset.”

Rodimus’ plating flexed on instinct, spoilers twitching. His immediate response was silence, however not out of choice. His vocalisor locked up. He kept his optics downcased until he could form coherent (and staticless) sound. To his embarrassment, he squeaked, “I’m okay with you.” He had more blush than derma after uttering those simple, four words.

* * *

They laid down in silence, unmoving, and nowhere close enough to touch. Unlike their fields, tingling with curious pulses against each other. Megatron looked over, only moving his optics, and saw the tension in his flame’s plating and tight fists held to his sides.

 _Maybe if I—_ Megatron rolled over to his side, facing away from Rodimus _—maybe he will relax._

Although his general’s crass remarks about Nyon’s Gift picked then to resurface, Megatron knew that Tarn was not best when it came to judgement of character.

* * *

Between bewilderment and arousal, Megatron stood with his unsheathed member primed for entry of a very enticing valve.

Whom that valve belonged to was of no surprise, Megatron’s subconscious mind was more than delighted. And with handsome features staring the silver frame down, the small mech almost smirked, rolling his hips in the silver mech’s hold. 

“Light me up,” spoken with a sultry optic, servos moving down his golden frame, slowly moving down to his bare valve. “I live to serve.”

Something was sparked in Megatron’s head, something urged his spike inside—mewl and whines and—this does not make any sense? But the sensation, the molten heat that is holding and milking his spike. It felt too good to not be happening. 

By Primus, he’d ride the sensation until he passed out. He held his flame by the waist, unit moving in through the wet valve, catching on every bump and node. The way Rodimus wrapped around his member, calipers kissing it, the lips brushing against with each thrust. The build up quick, vents running hot. It’s goo— 

“Oof!” 

Greeted with the cold, hard floor. Megatron’s face definitely did not miss the floor, unfortunate for him. Dimly glowing optics stared down at him. There was an innocence in how he looked down at his new lord.

The innocence was not something Megatron had past experience with. Except he usually was above the other… in combat. But that didn't matter… hopefully. 

He picked himself from the floor and could now see Rodimus much more clearly than below. (Or than his dreamscape.) Yellow biolights pulsed while he was now on his knees, leaning back from the edge. 

Rodimus was sure, and even less certain if he should speak. However, Megatron sighed and sat back down with his face turned away from his Gift, and whispered: “Sorry to wake you.”

It was an apology that was more for his sake, because now, he doesn't understand this desire at all… but he wants it to be good.


	6. Chapter 6

He woke up cold, something that he was used to, so he rolled over, and he was warm. _Huh?_ Roddy pulled his legs up to his still sleepy chassis. His optics remained closed and unaware of the space around him. Even with the unusual comfort, something did not send him into a wakeful daze. 

But, as irony would have it, Roddy, although comfortable, found that going back to recharge near impossible. Even as he coocooned himself in the blanket that he’d come to have, swaddled in the warmth and he still could not find it to sleep again. So, he wiggled his helm passed the lip of the blanket covering his face. 

The outside world—more correctly, Lord Megatron’s berthroom—was not dim but was by no means an optic scolder. The light warm and fuzzy. He uttered a small noise before stretching, spoilers popping free easily from the blanket wrap, rubbing his optics with the back of his servo. _He was comfortable_ \--

\--until he realized with a blanket throwing start, he was _alone_. When did Mega-Lord-What’s-His-Name leave? Even with the blurr still strong in his optics, the opposite of the berth was left empty, with the sheets disheveled. The rest of the blankets, however, were wrapped around him. 

Rodimus wiggled out with a grunt, and with his legs kicking the blankets, he felt suddenly cold outside of his cocoon. His free spoilers clattered against his back. 

He froze when he heard the door open slightly, dark finials and yellow optics peering in. Fuel lines ran cold and the voice did not aid in nulling that. “General Tarn hails for you, Rodimus.” 

Rodimus looked on at those optics, yellow was usually a sign of poor health or status. Obviously not the highest ranked. He already knew—assumed—that he was lower ranked than that Tarn fellow, since he was coming to collect him like an errand boy. Rodimus slid off the berth clank, a blanket catching on his hip. “Erm,” he hummed, feeling those optics watch him shift the caught fabric. “Why… did General Tarn say why?”

The mech stepped in, sidestepped the entrance, shaking his helm. “Said he’d like to speak with you personally. Hurry up, you’re not the only mech on my watch.”

Something about this steely black mech did both intimidate and made Rodimus’ curiosity peaque. As he weaved his way around the large berth, he watched the floor as he came closer. His spark throbbed hard when he looked up, and the golden optics bored into his brittle armor.   
The dark mech opened the door, the stone brick walls dark and unlit. “Come.”

“Deadlock,” Rodimus paused, they were both now close to where Tarn had wanted to meet, down many flights of stairs, deep enough that the ground was not laid, cobbled and loose. “Should I be scared?”

“Of Tarn?” Deadlock already _knew_ the slim mech was terrified, spoiler marking that terror. Even with his own mercenary work and what works Megatron has for him in these towers, Deadlock found his ways to avoid the General. By every means necessary, avoid the mech would. But he couldn’t just tell this Nyonian that, he was young and already taken from his home and offered to his Lord as a gift—the little mech had more to worry about than the General. His pause had caused the brilliant optics grow particularly wide. “Tell you what, I’ll stay outside—” patting a red shoulder “—okay?”

Before the dark door, easy twice the height of either of them, Rodimus with tight fists to his sides, and a barely tremor through his spoiler, he whispered out, “Okay.” 

Deadlock put his servo on the handle. “Wait!” It was quiet but sharp. “You promise you won’t go?”

Deadlock could not promise anything, not with his standing, but… “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short but I have been having a shit storm emotionally.. I'm trying. There's just a lot of personal critique and doubt so it's been hard to put words to a page. 
> 
> But thank you, those who read this. feel free to throw a comment at me?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took the collective of my 1 and maybe a half a brain cells to make this  
> University is here to kill me and take my breakfast  
> I hope yall enjoy even though it is short  
> I'm mostly dead but I want to make sure I don't forget how to write something that isn't a research paper lol  
> Please feel free to comment. It keeps me alive. <3

The only sound that Rodimus could hear now was the hard rush of energon in his audials. The unmoving face of the General was one thing that made him want to purge. He was uncertain if what he looked at was even a face, all the less moving if it had been a mouth guard but _no_ part moved. That was unsettling. 

“Nyonian Gift,” a deceptively gentle voice called, red optics pointed down toward something that Rodimus could not see. Door closed, pressing coldly against his back and spoiler. “Sit.” _An involuntary gulp_ and he really wanted to purge now. While Rodimus stood there, incapable of movement of his own limbs, the General looked back up again. “I did not stutter. Sit.”

He quickly shuffled across the room, spoilers down. There was merely a large table and even larger shelves, thickly laden with _books_ and other luminescent pads. _There are too many rooms in this place… it’s all too big._ He tentatively sat on the nearest chair. There were no arms to hold onto to ground himself so he had to settle with twiddling his thumbs with tight, entangled digits.

Whatever had kept Tarn’s attention, he tossed it over to the side, seating himself down at the opposite end of the long silver table. “So,” the General began, monotone, ruby optics moving up but helm unmoving. “Why were you chosen?”

Rodimus looked at him confused. “What do you mean?”

The faceplate shifted to face Rodimus wholly. “Why did Nyon choose you? You’re small. Frail. You look _sickly_ from the moment I laid optics on you.”

He gulped. Of course he did. Rodimus knew where he came from, didn’t have much choice in the matter. The alleys were no place for a young mech like him, let alone a youngling barely into his first frame when he was left to fend for himself. 

He had to clear his intake, ridding the static that had collected. “I’m small, I guess. I don’t really know.” His blue optics widen, watching the hulking mech—compared to himself—stood. It was then Rodimus noted and dreaded the gun barrels coming just over tank-treaded shoulders. 

“You must do better than that.” Tarn stepped around the end of the table, pushing a slightly pulled out chair in. 

Rodimus stayed near perfectly still. 

Then Tarn sat again, dragging the seat adjacent to the small light. “Do not lie to me,” soft but still with a bitter edge. Rodimus, still, all his energon running cold. “What did you do before?”

He could not bare to look into the unmoving face of the General, it felt like electricity was arching off his spine. His hands had wrung themselves, in hopes that possibly this large mech could even go just a bit back—too big, _too close_. He own field was, if he had not pulled into his form, was screaming for space— _fear—want to go home_. 

He only shifted when he saw the large pedes move, and there he saw ruby slivers stare away from him, only a moment. “Well, if you refuse to tell me—” Terror filled Rodimus’ veins, only then was the General able to hear the sleek frame tremble. ”— _My_ Lord Megatron has given me permission to do whatever necess—” doubled edged silk was cut off when the heavy door burst open, wafting cool air in. There was at least one field that he had gotten acquainted with that did not bristle with poorly hidden contempt.

“Oh, Lord Megatron!” The General rose and did a bow. “Is there trouble?” He sounded genuinely concerned and for a moment Rodimus was grateful that the attention was off of him. 

“Not yet, but there are a few details that need to ironed out before border talks can happen with Iacon and Vos,” his voice was firm and rattled through Rodimus’ thin chassis armor. He knew it should not have been something so simple to drive him to silence but he almost felt—not quite content but—at ease. However, he still dared not slouch or let his spoilers twitch. 

“What’s this, Tarn?”

“What do you mean, Milord?” 

Rodimus could read well enough from where he sat that the energy in the room was growing more heated and he could feel it all come to rest on his chassis. Sitting their silently, stiffly, hanging onto every word that was spoke. He tried to image what his Lord or General Tarn would say next. Nothing that came to mind felt like it would be true. 

“This is the questioning!” He sounded amused, tapping his digits on the edge on the table’s surface. 

“Ah, yes. So it is. It can wait,” Megatron paused and some part of Rodimus wanted to get closer. _That’s dumb! That would be the easiest way to get me killed… but we did sleep together._

“Meeting in the usual place then?” The General spoke as if he completely disregarded Rodimus’ existence. He felt himself vent again.

“No, it is almost supper. Dining area.”

_Oh, goody. Another awkward session of being too close to him._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all  
> I'm not dead~~~
> 
> no beta we die like men

He wanted to do more than just _fidget_. The edge in the air was enough to only leave the small mech with a tight field and an ever tighter lip. If he wasn’t surrounded by three mecha that probably more kills on their ledger than the amount of mecha in the Nyonian army. It was still physically disturbing.

They had spoken of things that Rodimus did not intend to listen in. His neck would snap back when his Lord spoke. It was something in the tone that he had, not warm, not cold, but not unfeeling either. It left him feeling open, almost naked.

They spoke of something that involved borders, treaties, and disturbingly about the gifted fire. Although it should have been all old hat by now, even if has only been a few orns since his arrival. The heat that burned quickly in his chassis stayed until the topic shifted away from him… until Tarn unfortunately brings Rodimus back to the top of need-to-deal-with business. It seemed to always be him who wanted to make sure that his Lord knew that he was there, here and listening to what they were talking about. What was he trying to do? It was not like Rodimus could leave, there were too many guards around. And it was likely that the entirety of the Kaoni people knew of his arrival… and the implication behind it. A means to protect against a war by being mate to a mech that had not taken one. Or shown interest in taking one, however the Nyonians had a chance and they took it. What would it really matter if a streetmech like him was rejected? No one of importance would be lost.

The smell of warm fuel ceased his thoughts to tumble back and forth. And the thought of warm fuel made his tanks rumble. If his lord hadn’t looked toward him with a tilt to the silver helm and subtle ruby glint, his spoilers wouldn’t have fallen in mild embarrassment. But embarrassment would have to wait, the silver hood that covered the platters were taken off and away. Steam and aroma wafting up in dancing clouds above the fillet. 

He could not help the small gasp that came from him, or the way that those big crimson optics came to rest on him. “Does this please you?” Megatron asked with a sincere glint in his optics. Rodimus’ spoilers bounced up, a little happy bounce. “Yes… my lord.” Rodimus had to make sure that the title left his lips. He did not wish to make trouble for himself with the mech that he had to sleep with.

“Why did you hesitate?”

“Tarn,” chidded Soundwave, “need you always get off track? It is unbecoming of a general.” Soundwave’s mouth plate had pulled away and hid itself, him taking a bite of his fillet. 

The flame could feel that field from the purple mech boil over him and onto the blue frame. His red optics pulled down to a tight sneer. “Are you questioning me in _my_ position to be our Lord’s general? I could have you court martialed—”

“If you don’t mind, we have other things to discuss than your petty squabble.” Megatron may have looked irritated but his field was not so, maybe to maintain the look of ruthless warlord. Rodimus would have thought that until the calm energy had prodded his. He hadn’t noticed that his field had spilled discomfort, fear, hunger—but he felt a bit more at ease from the energy from his lord. Maybe this could work. Rodimus allowed his back and spoilers to relax, to fall to a comfortable angle, and for him to actually try the fillet. _This is the food rich people eat???_ He wondered why he couldn’t have been sent off earlier for the food alone.

“Yes, other—much more important topics. One that I have to you about, Megatron,” Soundwave remarked before placing a piece of fillet in his mouth. Rodimus watching him was curiosity as he chewed through his own bite. “Pardon me for being bold, however it is necessary to ask.”

“Go on—” Megatron waved him on with the back of his fork.

“There are rumors going about in the square of a strange mech here,” he explained. “Have you considered wedding this gift? Use him as he was intended and perhaps quiet the onlookers.”

Their lord growled, Rodimus freezing mid motion, his youthful field showing the fear that it had something more to do with him. But only after a brief moment it took for him to realise what Soundwave had said and he swallowed hard. It should not make him anxious, he knew that this would likely happen… but Megatron could always reject the idea. 

“Rumors are a sign of a mech that has too much time on their hands.” One large, clawed servo tapped on the tables surface. “However marriage, I hadn’t considered it.” _Dread filling Rodimus like the fillet had._ “Yet. Not yet. I believe I need to speak to Rodimus about this.”

“You’re giving the shareware choice?” Tarn leered, arms crossing his chest, _mask_ still on. Soundwave didn’t hesitate to back hand him. 

“Hold your tongue you insolent—”

“Enough!” He boomed. “This is no longer a meeting and I will no longer tolerate it!” Megatron snapped, slamming flat palm to the table, shaking everything. “Dismissed. Get out of my sight.” 

Tarn shoved the seat back with a scape to the floor. He left with a huff, stomping off and way. The groan of the large door was the last thing of his crass being. However, Soundwave still remained. Only when Megatron’s flight engines hissed, did he rise, bowed, and made his way through the same large doors. 

Upon hearing the heavy thump, he sighed and dropped his fork, palm to his forehead. “His actions will be handled with extreme prejudice. You should feel no obligation to take any responsibility for his actions.”

“I didn’t plan on it, but I’ve been called worse,” he louder-than-he-anticipate slurped what was in his spoon. Audials twitching back and heat fell over his face. 

“You shouldn’t have _ever_ seen him behave in such a matter.” He reached back again for his fork, maybe to finish his meal but found that his appetite had slipped away. However, it would seem that the little mech to his right had more than enough of an appetite. Upon further inspection, it looked like his appetite was showing. “If you are going to be my consort, he needs to know who he answers to.”

“I get it. Makes sense. Can’t be an afthole to your boyfriend and think it’s all cool.” 

“Um, yes.” Rodimus hadn’t spoken like this at all since he had been within the towers. “Nice to see that you’ve loosened up around me.” He took a bite and chewed as he watched more closely what Rodimus had be slurping up with his spoon. _Oh._ “I see you like the frozen engex.”

“Do what?” The spoon still dandled out of his mouth. Then Megatron pointed with his filled fork toward the bowl that was filled with bright blue, resembling nothing of what it once was. “This? I thought it was ice cream.” 

“A little bit more than just that,” he allowed himself to chuckle at the innocence in those crisp blue optics, how they resembled the blue emgex. “However, it is getting late. Perhaps we should go to berth.”

Rodimus sat for a moment, contemplated, and found it agreeable to go to berth. The anxiety of the first night not even a memory on his mind. “Yeah. Okay.” He got up when Megatron rose, or at least attempted to, finding that perhaps he had a bit more than what he should have. A soft bulge that showed the yellow biolights between the seams, but was undoubtedly full. Megatron offered a servo, noticing that his little flame was still seated. “This is fine.”

“Yes, fine. A little tipsy and quite over fueled,” he actually laughed at that. He pulled Rodimus up, who promptly snuggled into his side, wrapping his arms around the silver one. 

“Wha-? Don’t likey?”

Megatron realised that they were not going to get anywhere fast if Rodimus was already falling victim to engex and its overcharging nature. So he lifted him up so that was sideways to his torso, making the little mech make a sound of shock before settling into the hold. His little flame really was a flame, a warm fire on his chassis. Warmth coming off of his small chassis like waves from the Rust Sea. “I… don’t make me answer that.”

“Yessss. Tell me,” Rodimus became to slur, laying his suddenly heavy helm on Megatron’s inexplicably comfortable shoulder. 

Megatron stumbled on his voice box. It didn’t want to say anything while he needed to. “Um…?”

“Pwease?” _How could those optics get so big?_

Megatron is weak to those lovely optics. Just weak. He sighed as he made his way through the hall, toward the stairs to their tower. He smiled before he was forced to reply (and honestly): “Yes, I do ‘likey’.”

“Mmm, cool.”

* * *

Rodimus was already asleep by the time Megatron maneuvered the door. Megatron was not far behind, the warmth was intoxicating. He waded over to the side that his future courtship had slept prior. Pulling the blanket down and covering up the dear mech. It was adorable, the way he snuggled into the blanket and pillows.

Walking with a drained battery, Megatron wormed his way between the cover, trying not to shake the berth and wake this sleeping Gift. It didn’t work. Rodimus rolled over to face Megatron who suddenly froze. He relaxed as Roddy cuddled back up to his chassis. And he was asleep again.

 _Maybe this could work_ , Megatron mused, hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo Thank you for readin!   
> Leave a comment if you liked this or found something interesting!


End file.
